


Paid by Blood

by Pen Dumonium (megyal)



Series: Les Bleu Foncé [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Community: smut_fest, Elves, Fantasy, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 22:03:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/448028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/Pen%20Dumonium
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(from a community prompt) This empath is everything they shouldn't be, and uses their power to take advantage of people. There are some whose minds are impenetrable, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Paid by Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by [](http://txilar.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://txilar.livejournal.com/)**txilar**. I had a lot of fun working with this; I had a family tree and a shield, and you can check those out at the end! This version is slightly different from the one posted on the comm. Nothing substantial, just a few edits.

Cleric-Major Johanna-Francisco Maria always claimed that Remy would end up dead or in goal long before he encountered his age of majority.

"Dead," Cleric-Major Maria would intone before morning prayers, staring at Remy as he stood before the many rows of quiet and grey-garbed children, his mouth twisted in a sullen line. "Or, _in goal_."

Cleric-Major Maria was in a kind of goal for the insane herself now, for Remy had learned how to _press_ her, the way he _pressed_ everyone nowadays in different measure. He had made her run shrieking down the damp halls, mad with confusing emotions, tearing away her heavy veil and revealing her face, eyes rolling in her head.

Cleric-Minor Johanna-Francisco David took over her position. He suffered Remy's antics for a few days before calling him into the office and looking at him with pity in his beautiful grey eyes, his own veil neatly attached to the sides of the deep cowl. Remy hated any sort of pity from _anyone_ , and so he pressed David. It wasn't hard, because David had already felt something for Remy, and Remy knew it well, felt it cloyingly sweet and tickling under his skin whenever David passed him in the corridors with a calm smile, or spoke to him in lessons. Remy simply took it and fed it back, _pressed_ it over and over into itself in rough, thick thrusts until David finished coming inside him and slid out, dripping out of Remy in slithering little rivulets.

Cleric-Minor David wept, his hands over his face as he collapsed into the uncomfortable armchair in front of the desk. Remy turned around from where he had been bent over it, pulling up his pants slowly. David's robes were still open, and his prick lay soft between his legs.

David sobbed, "I...I don't know what happened, please forgive me, Remy, oh _angelica_ Johanna Francisco, take my unclean soul. Forgive me." The babbling went on for some long minutes. Remy withstood the pathetic onslaught of guilt, almost reflexively deflecting it back to the source, whipping it into a storm. When David looked up, tears leaving silvery streaks down his pale face, Remy adopted a frightened expression and fled.

He didn't go with the others to stare as the Captain O' The Watch and his team carefully removed David's body from where it had been swinging in his office, tied to a wooden cross-beam with the silver scarf the clerics wrapped around their waists, to which the medallion of the Watchful Star was usually pinned.

David's medallion had been lodged in his throat. Cleric-Minor Anita took up the office after _him_ ; Remy adored and despised Anita all at the same time. She had the unsettling quality of being _unpressable_ , and Remy didn't like the way her dark gaze just weighed heavily on his face and neck, serene even as he tried to feel his way about her mind, to press her into doing what he wanted. Anita felt like climbing a wall with no end, smooth and shadowed deeps, no footholds to latch onto.

Anita had smiled at him like the big sister he never had; after David's death, she stopped smiling, and looked at Remy with eyes that seemed hollow. Remy and some of the others left the next day; some would call that running away. Remy preferred to think of it as a new beginning.

That was ten months and many miles ago; now, as Remy stood in the middle of the large flat he had rented for himself and his little crew, he tugged at the end of his finely made vest, smoothing it down over his shirt. Dead; or in _goal_ , was what Maria had predicted, and here he was, gazing down the tree-lined boulevard of Grand Jolie, like a newly crowned king surveying all. He felt a pleased smile curve his lips as he reached for the decanter on the nearby table, and poured himself a glass of wine. He remembered reading his own file, breaking into Cleric-Major Maria's office as a small boy. If the thin sheets of paper were to be believed, he had been found on the outskirts of this vibrant city as a baby. It felt poetic to him, serendipitous, even though he really had no sense of nostalgia for this place.

For _any_ place.

Someone knocked quickly on the door, and entered without even awaiting a response from Remy. He felt the turmoil of the single mind currently in his presence, and pushed out soothing tendrils of calm; not too much to alert Carlotta to the fact he was actually doing it, but more of an attempt to help her stay fixed on their target.

Nevertheless, Carlotta sighed behind him and said, "Remy-boyo, I don't know about this one, ey?"

Amused at Carlotta's talent at soaking the local dialect in nearly every town they'd been in, Remy was still irritated at the hesitation. He smoothed down the neat knot of the colourful cravat at his neck, and tugged at the hem of his vest.

"Carlotta--"

"It just feels _wrong_ ," she said, and when he finally turned to face her, the corners of her lips were turned down slightly. "I en know."

" _En_?" Remy smiled at her, indulgently. Out of his little band, Carlotta had been with him the longest. She knew so much about him that few did...like the reason he kept his dark hair in its long style: to conceal the pointed tips of his ears.

" _Don't_ ," she corrected, one side of her mouth twitching up out of the anxious arc. "Sorry. They talk so nice here. So liquid. It's not hard to pick it up."

Remy waved a hand in the air, half-entranced by his own smooth brown skin pulled taut over slender fingers, before pulling himself out of the distraction. "Lotte, you _told_ me that it looked like an easy job at the first look, didn't you?"

Carlotta exhaled. "Yes. Big mansion just outside Grand Jolie, no visible guards. Everyone sleeps all day, and then in the evening, they all wake up and traipse down to their bar, there by the road. Play their music all night, and back home for sleep."

"They're all gone for the night. Every night." Remy kept his tone gentle and soft. Just as softly, he pushed his own ease at her. Les Bleu Foncé were an old family here in Grand Jolie, going back for numerous generations, as far as Remy's research in the stuffy old library had brought to light. He had gone to their ramshackle bar a few days before, smiling his way through the crowd, and plucking coins of out the pockets of unwary patrons with surprising ease; one would think people would be more careful in a big city like Grand Jolie. Les Bleu Foncé, though not without musical talent, would be just like every other family Remy's band had encountered in their travels: smug in their familial institution, comfortable in their power.

After Remy and his people relieved them of some of their inherited weight, he liked to imagine that they wouldn't feel as smug.

Carlotta nodded. "All gone."

"And no guards, as far as you can tell."

Carlotta exhaled heavily; the fine wisps of pale hair lying across her forehead fluttered in agitation. "Yeah. But--"

Remy kept pushing at her, barely restraining his massive confidence and monstrous self-worth. They'd been doing this for _months_ , and had never been caught, moving from town to town like those resurrection plants which bowled along the mist-covered cobbled roads. Carlotta really had nothing to worry about.

"I really don't have anything to worry about," she said on a sigh, and then narrowed her gaze at Remy, ruefully. " _Remy_."

"Leave the worrying to me," Remy said with a smile. "That's what I'm here for, right?"

"Right," Carlotta said, but even so, Remy could sense a tiny tendril, smoke-thin, of distress. Without thinking about it, he made it to waft into nothingness.

\--

"That is one big house," Jerry said, standing with the rest of them in the shadows of an old umbrella tree. Its wide, drooping crown acted like a curtain to hide them from anyone still at the Mansion. Chayya's obscurity spell wove around them, a faint mist in front of their eyes. Anyone looking in their direction would see the objects _behind_ them, unless they were standing a few inches away; even then, ghostly outlines would be the only hint to people standing there.

Chayya said, "It's kind of nice," with hardly a hitch in her breath. She could keep up this obscurity spell in her sleep.

Remy nodded in agreement. It wasn't very tall, like mansions seen in other towns, but it was wide and pretty in a kind of run-down way. There was a wide verandah that wrapped around three sides of the house, highly detailed fretwork hanging like permanent icicles under the roof's edge. The double-doors were tall and the dormer windows gazed slyly into the oncoming night from all angles atop the roof.

A house like that was guaranteed to have precious heirlooms, or even a safebox with precious jewels. Chayya could undo any enchantments, and Jerry's talent at breaking open locks were incomparable, as far as Remy was concerned.

He smoothed his hands over his hair and then held himself as still as the others when the front doors swung open, and a group of around ten individuals strolled out. They were all apparently kin; hair long and darker than Remy's, smooth dark skin and pale eyes. They were a tall family, and moved with a grace that was obviously fostered by a life of easy comfort and being served by others; Remy felt his top lip lift in a sneer. They were dressed very stylishly. Most of the men wore dark breeches tucked into boots, waistcoats so white that they seemed to glow in the dusk, double-breasted frockcoats left open in a casual manner, and cravats tied carelessly. The women sported pretty, short-waisted gowns, trimmed with dark lace at the provocatively low neckline and short sleeves, their soft shoes tapping quietly along the stone paving of the winding driveway. They all set off, chattering amongst each other with their up-and-down accents with which Lotte was so entranced; a few of them had smaller instruments in hand, like a flute or a banjo.

There was one that walked ahead of the rest, coolly removed from their arguments and internal gossip. A tall and slightly conical hat rested precariously atop his head. When he looked back now and again, throwing a bored gaze at his followers, his long braid swung from side to side near the middle of his back. He strolled with laconic taps of his walking stick, raising one gloved hand to beckon the rest to move faster. They continued on at the same pace, down to their smoke-filled bar to play music and serve drinks and smile at people all night long.

Good; let them have their fun. In a few hours, a few of the members of Les Bleu Foncé would be liberated from the weight of their possessions. Remy spared a few moments to imagine the looks of dismay on their faces when they returned home before dawn.

When the last of the family turned the sharp corner just before the elaborate gates which let in from the main road, Remy said, "Let's go." It was with some effort that he had to pull their attention back to the task on hand; Les Bleu Foncé had a magnetic air that caressed the gaze. Chayya's obscurity spell shifted with them as they walked towards the quiet house. There were no cooks, as far as Carlotta's investigations had turned up, and the servants were present only in the days, a small group that cleaned the house and tended the grounds.

The house loomed over them as they crept up the steps to the large verandah. Remy inclined his head, frowning internally when Jerry hesitated a little, and he had to press him even more than usual to get the door open. It was quick work for Jerry; the locks were old and willing at his light touch.

At his push, one wing of the front doors swung open on hinges which let out soft murmurs of complaint. The receiving salon was wide and deep, and the sweeping staircase on the other end was wide, polished wood gleaming in the low light.

"Quickly," Remy urged, and hurried in after the rest of them, gaze fixed firmly on the staircase. He pictured his little band racing up the stairs, finding those hidden panels that rich people thought were so clever, opening concealed drawers and defeating the tumblers of safes. He let this image power his pressing, whipping the rest of them into faster action.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the shimmering shadow advancing from the left, streaking low along the ground. Belatedly, he tried to send out a shock of warning, but the guardian-wraith was already upon them; it uttered a loud screech which trembled along his teeth and crumpled in his bones. Remy clutched at his head, falling to his knees as the others staggered at various points up the staircase. They only felt the terrific power of its voice. Remy, who had been wide-open for pressing, felt its wail wind right into his mind, rife with its envy of his living essence and its duty to defend its home. Remy couldn't think properly. He'd never encountered a guardian-wraith so close. He collapsed onto his side, heedless of his fancy threads.

The wraith hovered over him, and Remy barely heard the pounding of the others as they escaped. Desperately, he tried to press the ethereal being, but it flittered away from his mind with ease, and pounced on him again, filling his head with those _shrieks_.

It _ate_ at him, slavering over his body eagerly. It sank sharp claws into his mind and began to tear away his feeble defenses. It shook him the way a dog would shake a well-worn toy, and Remy could only release a clenched scream from behind bared teeth. His body arched in agony, out of control, and he felt his blood cool in his veins.

It seemed to last forever.

Vaguely, he was aware of the clatter of footsteps coming towards him, and lamplight flaring above him, bleeding red through his clenched eyelids. Someone murmured in their hill-and-valley way; the wraith became abruptly silent. For the first time in his life, Remy sent up fervent thanks to the Angelica and then fell into a relieved darkness.

\--

Remy came awake slowly, swimming to the surface of consciousness with painful caution, for his head felt as if it was too large with pain. He twisted and tried to sit up, but someone's cool hands touched his forehead and said phrases that he didn't want to understand. He was too weak even to press, and so he fled back to his deep sleep.

\--

The second time was not different from the first, but the third attempt was far better. The headache was mostly a growling mutter in the front of his mind, not quite gone but not as debilitating as before. At least it didn't roar to life when he opened his eyes to mote-sprinkled afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows. He struggled into a sitting position, finding himself on a bed so soft that he seemed to be sinking in a mound of feathers. He was also bound, in a fashion: there were leather straps around his ankles and wrists, pulled tight but not uncomfortable. Long, woven cords wound from the straps to the strong-looking posters of the bed. He reached out, tried to pull them off, but they were either too strong or he was still too weak.

"Finally awake, _cher_?" A voice called from the door, soft and light and smoky. Remy jerked his head up and stared at the man standing in the threshold: one of Les Bleu Foncé. He looked like all the others with his dark hair and lovely dark skin and pale, pale eyes, luminescent like pearls. This was not the older one that had been leading all the others along, though. "And what is the name of our little thief?"

"You're going to let me go," Remy said, as firmly as he could possibly be while wearing some long nightdress they had put on him. He _pressed_ at the man, forcing his desire to be free on him. The man's eyelids fluttered, his lashes long and thick, and Remy pressed some more.

Remy frowned. Something didn't feel right, and that _wrongness_ got worse when the man began to laugh, long and low. Whenever he pressed most people, he could feel their emotions moulding to match his, curling around obediently and falling right into place. For the few who he couldn't press, he didn't feel anything from them at all; they were like reading a book that had no words.

This man...Remy could _feel_ his amusement, a kind of fond amazement, and a distant curl of _want_ that set Remy's cheeks to warmth, but all these danced deftly away from any sort of control. Remy felt fear bloom in the back of his mind, and he pressed back against the sheets, hoping the panic wasn't showing on his face.

"Hey there," the man said, walking towards Remy. _Ey dere_ , was what he sounded like, and Carlotta had been right; it was pretty to listen to. Hypnotic, in a way. Remy tried to glare at him, but his eyes felt too wide to be effective. The man smiled at him some more.

"If you're going to do all that, you might as well know my name. Sacha Bleu Foncé, little thief." He stopped beside the bed and sketched a graceful bow. "And Dominique wants to meet you."

\--

Dominique Bleu Foncé had white streaks in his hair, near to his temple; he had long legs, which he folded one over the other when he sat in the armchair placed at the foot of Remy's bed...the bed he was _in_ , in any case. He fixed that pale gaze on Remy and considered him for a long while. Remy tried to stare back at him, but found he couldn't keep looking. Dominique's face was impassive, but Remy could feel a dark glee floating off him in waves.

The rest of Les Bleu Foncé were in the room as well, most of them standing behind Dominique's ornate chair; Sacha had introduced all of them, but Remy couldn't be bother to learn their names. Sacha was sitting right on the bed, next to Remy. His presence was...nice. It felt as if he was a sieve, filtering most of Dominique away.

Remy had never been in a room full of people like this before, with no control of what they were feeling. He clenched his fists at his sides and stared at the ineffectual valleys formed by the covers over his legs.

"You see his ears, Nicky?" one of the younger women asked, bracing her arms along the back of Dominique's chair. Remy could feel the irritation in Dominique at the childish name. "Sacha, show him."

"Pardon, my sweet little criminal," Sacha said, warm enough to stave off some of the chill of Dominique's stare. He reached out and tucked back Remy's hair from where it curled over the tops of his ears, revealing the sharp tops. "Happy now, Angeline?"

Angeline huffed, but Remy shrank away from the intrigue pushing at him. It came from all of them and he tried to block it, but it crashed against him, drowning him.

"Try to contain y'selves," Sacha said with a laugh, even though he wasn't that amused. "Where are your manners, eh? You know the rules."

"The laws between our peoples are ancient and strong." Dominique spoke to Remy, a feral smile curling his thin lips. He seemed to be ignoring the way Sacha glowered at him. "For your trespass, you will receive a punishment as agreed by our clans."

"I don't _have_ anyone," Remy strangled out, and tried to press them again. "Let me _go_."

Their minds twisted away from his grasp with little effort. Mixed in with the mocking amusement was concern from Sacha, and Remy longed to lean into it.

"You don't have any one, cher?" Another of the men asked, tilting his head. "But Nicky, you see how he looks just like--"

"Quiet, Alan." Dominique actually twisted in his chair to glare, and Alan frowned back at him. "Chatty child. We have punishment to mete out, yes?"

"No," a woman said, her voice low. Remy peeked in the direction of the voice, but the two women standing in the shadows were so alike, and so still, that he couldn't tell which of them had spoken.

"He requires the defense of his clan," one twin said.

"And the punishment agreed upon by both clan-leaders," the other intoned, and they both fell silent again. Dominique actually hissed at them, his eyes narrowed.

"Fie, you witches," he said and then turned back to Remy, considering. He was far more pleased than his annoyed countenance let on. "I suppose we'll have to call Tesso, then."

"Don't look so cheerful," Sacha said, lounging back almost atop Remy. "You know he hates you."

"Sacha, keep your lip to y'self before I take away your pretty new toy and give him to Séraphin over there, eh?" Dominique's gaze glittered as Sacha sat up abruptly and one of the men grinned like a predator with its prey in sight. "Now if you would all stop the yapping, you two witches should get to summoning Tesso 'bout now."

The two women moved more forcibly than their general attitude indicated, pushing everyone out of their way, even chivvying Dominique out of the chair he treated like a throne and pushing it to one side until they had a clear space spanning from the foot of the bed to the opposite wall. The rest of the family kept still as they bent to the floor, their hair obscuring the sides of their faces. Remy heard the scratches of their nails on the floorboards, and folded his lips over his teeth, for the sound was grating. In a few moments, they straightened at the same time, considering their work before nodding at Dominique.

"Ready, Nicky."

"Please don't call me that when Tesso is here," Dominique said, very threateningly. His family just laughed, indulgently. Remy wanted to sink into the soft fleece of their affection for each other, and held himself away.

Dominique walked over to the pattern on the floor, unseen by Remy. He bent over it, the way someone would bend over a small pool or a well and said, "Montessoro. Dominique calls for you."

Then, to Remy's utter confusion, Les Bleu Foncé simply sauntered out of the room en masse; only Sacha remained for a few moments, unnecessarily tucking the ends of the covers underneath Remy's body.

"It will be alright," he said, and Remy sourly thought to himself that it was really no use lying to a person with _his_ particular talents; it was very easy to detect Sacha's worry, even though it was odd to feel someone _worrying_ for _him_.

Sacha continued: "When Tesso decides to show up, we'll know what to do. The punishment might not be so bad, eh, cher?"

"Don't call me that," Remy said, pulling himself away from Sacha's cool hands. "Go away."

Sacha touched his shoulder; pity and interest flowed out at him, and Remy twisted away from his touch.

\--

There was no sign of this Tesso for the rest of the day, nor for the next morning. Remy remained shackled to the bed, released only to go to the bathroom or to have a meal. He tried to make a break for it at breakfast, but Angeline was upon him with an eerie speed. She caught him at the door, twisting his arm behind his back and laughing at his struggles.

"Oh, _petit_!" she exclaimed as she dragged him back to the small round table and shoved him back into his seat, her skirts shushing with every movement. "That was fun, but don't do it again!" Patting him on the head, she returned to her own chair and took up the book she had been engrossed in before Remy had dashed away. Remy stared at her, then picked up his fork and gripped it tightly. He could stab her with it.

Her pale eyes appeared over the top of her book and she winked at him. Remy jabbed at the delicious mounds of fluffy eggs instead and shoved a forkful into his mouth.

He was being watched by the twins (the name of one was Fabiola, he recalled; which one, he wasn't sure at all), when Tesso appeared. Sitting at the table, Remy could look at the circular pattern which they had scarred into the polished wood of the floor-boards. Lines radiated from the center of the circle, piercing its circumference. Within the slices formed by the circles and lines, symbols unknown to Remy lay in lazy curlicues.

In the late afternoon, these letters glowed briefly and yet so brightly that Remy had to close his eyes. When he squinted them open, the area of the floor covered by the pattern had been transformed into a pool of grey, bubbling liquid, and a vaguely human-shaped form was rising up out of it, slowly.

The pleasure of the twins wafted to Remy, and they edged closer to the pool, eyes bright with anticipation. The person coming up was covered with the grey stuff, which fell from them in thick clumps. By the time the person had fully emerged, standing easily in the middle of the pool as if they were on solid ground, Remy could see that it was a tall man dressed in worn travelling clothes: a long coat with a high collar, and a wide floppy hat which obscured most of his face. His hair cascaded in messy curls down to his shoulders.

One of the twins breathed out, "Montessoro. Welcome," and the man tilted his head, a small smile on his face. Remy breathed out sharply when he got a quick look at the man's face; but for the lines at the corners of his eyes and mouth, his resemblance to Remy was startling: the same long shape of face, the light brown eyes which tilted up sharply at the corners and the generous mouth.

"Fabiola," he said, stepping forward and taking each of their hands in turn. "Félicie. So lovely to see you, as usual."

The twins smiled at him and then grinned at each other; they were tickled not only because he knew them apart, Remy realised, but they were also genuinely pleased to see him. Then, the man turned towards him and Remy felt the surge of shock before _everything_ coming from the man suddenly cut off.

Remy blinked. That had never happened before. Either he could sense someone or not; he had never come across someone that he could feel one moment, and then nothing in the next.

"He looks just like Ohala," Fabiola-or-Félicie said, for Remy did not have the talent or the familiarity to tell them apart; even their _emotions_ were indistinct. "Doesn't he?"

"Yes," Montessoro said, and then pressed his lips tightly together, yanking his gaze away from Remy. "He does. Where's Nicky?"

There was a scuffling sound by the closed door, and then it was pushed open. Dominique strode through, dressed in a short jacket so elaborately worked with fine needlework that it bordered on ridiculous, with the fur lining the collar and the ends of the sleeve. His trousers fitted his long, strong legs just so, soft boots clasping their way up to his knee.

"Oh, Tesso," he said, eyebrows raised in an expression that would have seemed like genuine surprise, if Remy hadn't known that he and most of his family had been lurking behind the door for about ten minutes before Montessoro's arrival. "There you are, finally."

"Nicky," Montessoro said in a very flat tone, removing his hat. His hair was messy and Remy thought it was beautiful. He nodded at the others behind Dominique, whose face had become slightly hard around the eyes. "Virginie. Sacha. Alain. Séraphin. Alan. Angeline. Good day."

They chorused their collective salutation in a loud mixture of _Hello, cousin!_ and _Greetings, Tesso!_ Remy looked from Montessoro to Dominique, who had sidled over to his chair and lounged back into it with studied casualness.

"I'm sure you've figured out why we've requested your presence?" Dominique fussed with the hem of his sleeves, jerking his chin in Remy's direction. "His resemblance to Ohala is _remarkable_ , is it not? Is he one of yours?"

Montessoro turned to Remy, his hat clenched in his hands. "He's one of our kin, probably. More than likely, if you remember what Ohala was like. But not from my clan."

Dominique said, "Ohhhh," in a breathy, regretful moan. Montessoro closed his eyes briefly at the sound, and opened them again, still staring at Remy. "Such a pity. He broke into our home, you know, and if it wasn't for Benoite, he and his merry little band would have made off with all the valuables!"

Remy thought, _Damn right I would have_ , and a spike of disapproval flicked out from Montessoro, like a light slap on the arm. Remy actually jumped at the sensation, and glowered, trying to hide his own emotions. He'd never attempted that before, and from the way Montessoro allowed a small quirk of his lips, Remy needed far more practice than a few minutes. Remy looked away and managed to catch Sacha's eye. Sacha smiled, slow and sweet, and Remy ducked his head.

Montessoro said, "Your mother has always been very protective. Remember the time you tried to burn down the oak tree around the back? If it wasn't for her, your fathers would have skinned you alive." He smiled as he spoke, and Les Bleu Foncé laughed in collective recollection; they seemed to be all fairly entranced by him, and even Sacha was attentive; it made Remy feel all _kinds_ of things, and none of them were acceptable. "But like I said," Montessoro continued, the smile fading, "he's not one of mine."

Something twisted inside Remy and he gazed at the closest shadowed corner, swallowing past a large and sudden lump in his throat.

"Then he will be given our harshest punishment." Dominique slumped down even more into his chair, looking for all the world like a self-satisfied cat. "Since he is without a clan-leader, then there is no-one to speak for him. Bring him here."

"Nicky--" Sacha began, starting forward. Dominique fixed him with a baleful sneer.

"Stand down, Sacha."

"Nicky, _no_ ," Sacha insisted, trying to push past the others, but they held him back, looking at him with warning in their pale eyes. Remy felt Sacha's growing panic and... _possessiveness_ , how odd, and he pressed back into the chair. He didn't fight when Angeline and one of the younger men began to undo his manacles, dragging him forward and forcing him to kneel in front of Dominique's parted legs.

"Don't," Sacha said from behind them, as Dominique reached forward and placed one long finger under Remy's chin, tipping up his face and forcing him to look up. "He won't be able to take it, he never has before, you know that. Dominique, you _can't._ " He descended into a creole so thick that Remy could barely understand it, but he comprehended the threatening tone, and the whiplash of dismay from Sacha that struck around his mind.

Remy trembled as Dominique's fingers trailed down the side of his neck, leaving a trail so cool that it seemed to freeze a line of Remy's skin. Dominique smiled and his teeth looked fearfully sharp. Remy flailed in his mind, trying to lock onto Dominique, but to no avail. It was like trying to scale a massive plane of glass.

"Tesso," Sacha was pleading behind him, his speech clear again. "Tesso. Nicky won't stop. Not unless it's you."

Dominique bent forward. His smile grew impossibly wider and his eyes seemed to glow. A low hiss emanated from the back of his throat, and Remy closed his eyes, shaking.

"Nicky," Montessoro murmured, just as Dominique's lips pressed against the pulse fluttering like a trapped bird in the side of Remy's neck. " _Dominique_ ," he said in a louder tone, when teeth grazed against Remy's damp skin, grazing the flesh. "I'll speak for him."

Dominique sat upright, abruptly releasing Remy, who reeled back. Someone knelt behind him, slinging an arm around his shoulders and giving him a quick squeeze. Remy turned, head spinning at Sacha's sudden proximity.

"Come," Sacha whispered and lifted him bodily, walking back to the bed easily even though he and Remy were of a height, and seemed about the same weight. Settling him down, Sacha tucked in close to Remy's side, and they watched as Dominique and Montessoro stared at each other.

" _You_ will speak for him?" Dominique seemed intrigued, but Remy knew he was almost prancing in murky delight. "But he's not of your clan. You said so yourself."

"And I say he is now." Montessoro shrugged off his travelling cloak, and handed it to one of the twins, who folded it with great care over her arm. "I'll take his punishment." His tone curved back from the words in disdain. "You can still let him work off his trespass in another way, if you want."

Dominique's glanced at where Remy was almost hiding underneath Sacha's arm. "Oh, he will. And Sacha?" he called, almost conversationally. "Ten lashes for your interference, child."

Sacha's lean body stiffened beside Remy's, but he nodded. "I'll take them when you say."

"I saw _now_." Dominique flicked his fingers carelessly. "Alain, get the whip and don't you hold back none, mind what I say. The rest of you have work to do, don't you?"

Reluctantly, the others trooped out, throwing concerned glances at Montessoro, who shook his head at them all and began removing his crumpled cravat, undoing the top buttons of his cream-coloured shirt. Sacha slid from Remy's side; without thinking, Remy reached out and grabbed his arm. Sacha looked back on him, a question in those lovely eyes.

"Remy," he blurted, and flushed at Sacha's raised eyebrows. "Remy. That's my name."

Sacha smiled, and it wavered a little on his face before bravely hanging on.

"It's nice," he said and placed his other hand over Remy's. "I'll see you soon." He slipped from Remy's hold and gave Dominique a quick glare. Remy actually smiled at the wave of disgruntlement directed at Dominique, who ignored him completely and fixed an avid stare on Montessoro's movements.

Remy jumped when the door slammed. He tried not to look at Dominique and Montessoro, but it was hard not to; he watched them out of the corner of his eye. Montessoro knelt down in front of Dominique, reaching out with strong hands to part his legs and shift up between his thighs. Dominique's chest moved with his quick breaths as he carded his fingers through Montessoro's hair, smiling at the weight of it.

Montessoro tilted his head. "Go on, Nicky."

"Don't call me that," Dominique rasped out. He moved so fast, Remy hardly could track it, but he had his mouth pressed against Montessoro's neck in an instant.

Montessoro let out a low moan, back arched in a trembling arc. His hands slipped up Dominique's thighs, one going to knead at his crotch, the other one clenching at Dominique's shoulder, nails digging into the lush material of the ridiculous jacket. His control wavered, and now Remy could feel the layers of his complex desire, all of it for Dominique.

Dominique sucked harder on Montessoro's neck, slurping wantonly and when Montessoro whispered, "Stop, Nicky," Remy actually expected him to keep drinking all the life away, but Dominique snapped his head back, breathing harshly and licking his lips. He grabbed at Montessoro's shoulders as the other man slumped forward in a faint, arranging the other man so that he could lift him as easily as Sacha had lifted Remy, even though that Montessoro was half a head taller, and bulkier than Dominique's more slender frame.

"Tesso," Dominique crooned at the unconscious man in his arms, gazing down at his slack face. Fondness seeped out of him and Remy let it lap at his feet like waves on the beach. He said the name again, soft like a trembling touch, before looking at Remy in a sly, smug manner. "And here you said you had _no-one_. How silly of you."

Dominique strode triumphantly to the door, bending with little effort to turn the handle, and swept out with his prize limp in his arms.

\--

The twins fashioned a collar of braided bronze, and placed it around Remy's neck. He couldn't remove it, and he couldn't press anyone while he wore it, and he couldn't walk a certain distance from the old mansion or the bar without the collar trying to strangle him. It was hateful and even worse than that: they put him to _work_ in the bar.

During the night, he served food and drinks, half-entranced by the music of Les Bleu Foncé, sullen at his new, menial role. Sacha didn't speak to him during work, even though Remy knew he wanted to; apparently, he was still under orders from Dominique. That didn't stop Sacha from murmuring to him in the hallways, giving him a small smile as he asked after Remy's health. Montessoro was in the mansion as far as Remy knew, in Dominique's room. Remy saw him at the other end of the dinner table sometimes, before they went to work, a confusing affair in which everyone sat at the long table in the dining hall and talked about everything in exclamatory tones.

After a week at the bar, Remy saw Carlotta walk in and stared at her as she sat at the polished counter, right in front of him. He gripped the glass he had been wiping dry and kept his gaze fixed on her as she tugged at the ends of her hair.

"We waited for you," she said, voice low. "In the next town, like always."

"You _left me_ ," Remy snapped, and how he hated this stupid collar, because he could feel her guilt and was unable to touch it. "You all did."

"What were we to do?" Carlotta reached out to him, but Remy stepped back, deftly avoiding her hands. He glanced over at the wide dais, and found Sacha watching them as he made his bow dance over the fiddle. Remy bit the inside of his cheek and looked back at Carlotta.

"That thing was so scary," Carlotta said, hugging herself briefly. "And you were fighting so hard and we...just ran."

Remy said nothing. He took an order from the customer beside her and doled out a hefty mix of alcohol before giving it to the man.

"We didn't know what to do, so... we stopped. Little Jolie is a really quiet place. It's by the seaside, there's tours and all. We've all got jobs." Her smile was small, and well-rested. "Chayya works in a healer's practice. We're okay, I think. Jerry likes it a lot, at least."

"That's nice," Remy said in a cool tone which indicated that it wasn't nice at all. "I'm at work myself, as you can see. So leave."

Carlotta nodded her head very slowly and then got up, brushing nonexistent dust from her jacket; it looked new, with its embroidered sleeves and high collar. It fit her well.

"May the _angelica_ bless you," she said and smiled as Remy actually flinched back from her gentle benediction, looking at her with wide, shocked eyes. "See you around, Remy."

Remy didn't watch her leave. He busied himself with the other customers, anticipating their requests before they even voiced them. At the end of the night's work, he cleaned and packed the glasses in the back-bar, removed his apron and walked with Les Bleu Foncé back to their mansion.

He would never admit this, but walking with the family was...nice. He didn't have to think about controlling their actions or thoughts. They surrounded him, Sacha always on his left, and they all moved like a flotilla, unstoppable.

Today, Montessoro sat on the patio, on the long chair just to one side of the main door. Wrapped in a thin blanket against the chill of the almost-morning, he didn't look up as Les Bleu Foncé trooped past him (even though Dominique bestowed on him a long, contemplative stare). Remy halted in front of him, shaking his head at Sacha's raised eyebrows. Sacha went inside.

For the lack of anything else to say, Remy asked, "Who is Ohala?" once they were alone. Montessoro closed his eyes with a small smile, and opened them again. He tilted his head at the space beside him and Remy sat down, body angled towards him.

"Ohala," Montessoro said, staring down the road which led to the house, "was my brother. He left the clan-home many years ago and came here, to Gran Jolie, to live with our cousins. He was so _bright_." Montessoro shrugged. "Always full of excitement and noise. Not like the rest of our clan."

"Where is he now?"

"Dead." Montessoro's lips pressed together before he spoke again. "Killed in that bar down there, in some argument. So I've heard."

Remy looked down the road as if he could see the bar himself, and the unfortunate demise of Ohala.

"I heard he took up with a normal woman," Montessoro said, far too casually. "Maybe he had a child with her." His gaze slid towards Remy, looking out of the corner of his eye. "Maybe that child was you."

Remy looked away quickly. He tried to control his racing heart and tumbling thoughts.

"It's not so bad, having a family," Montessoro said. "At least, most of Les Bleu Foncé aren't so bad."

"How..." Remy swallowed around the rest of his question.

"Same grandfather," Montessoro answered. One of his hands slipped out from underneath the blanket and rubbed at his neck absently. Remy tried not to stare at the two perfectly round puncture-wounds in his flesh. "We're all mixed up. Same grandfather, different grandmothers. And _their_ mother, Benoite, was with all three of the Bleu Foncé brothers." Montessoro grinned. "Benoite is...vigilant."

"She's scary," Remy said, hunching his shoulders and trying to curl into himself. He hadn't encountered the wraith at close range, not since that first time. She seemed to deliberately keep her distance from him, even though she would send out a flick of thought sometimes; not painful but definitely uncomfortable.

Sacha said she was teasing; Remy wasn't sure.

"What's normal?" he asked, and Montessoro turned around to look him fully in the face, eyebrows in curious conference. "You said Ohala took up with a normal woman. What's... _normal_?"

Montessoro shook his head and reached out, tucking Remy's hair behind his ear. He didn't touch the pointy tip of it.

"Normal people can't do what you and I do," Montessoro said. "Although you need more control. Normal people aren't like Les Bleu Foncé."

"What _are_ they?"

Montessoro hummed. "They're jealous and possessive. They're loving, if they put their mind to it. They can be cruel, and unkind. Thoughtless." Montessoro leveled a long look at him. "You must understand, they're far older than they look and act."

Remy asked, quietly, "What...what do they want from you? From me?"

Montessoro's smile was strange. "What do you think? To them, we taste _wonderful_."

\--

Remy stood outside Sacha's door, and knocked quickly. He felt Sacha's surprise when he pushed his way in. Sacha was seated at a wide desk, scrolls of musical manuscripts curling haphazardly at the surface. Sacha's surprise melted into pleasure, and the accompanying spike of desire made Remy's head feel light. He'd never had to go to a man he'd wanted before; they'd always come to him first.

"Yes?" Sacha stood, his fancy pen held loosely in one hand. His eyes appeared to gleam in the light of the fire. "Need something, Remy?"

Remy took a few steps in, tucking his sleep-robe a bit more securely around his waist. Most of his clothes now came from Alan, who was the same size as he was. Alan claimed that he needed to buy more clothing soon, anyway. Remy envied anyone who could casually order a whole new wardrobe for a different season, or for no good reason at all, really.

"I wanted to know more about Montessoro."

"Like what, cher?" Sacha held out one hand to the bed, and Remy perched at the foot of it. Sacha sat too, but kept a good distance between them.

Remy eyed that space, and then considered Sacha's open and inviting expression. "What's his family name?"

"Roho Yama." Sacha grinned. "Old elvin name...means _Red Flame_."

"Roho Yama," Remy murmured, even as Sacha continued speaking about Montessoro's parents (his mother, a woman of great height named Laki, who had bonded with the quiet but fierce Oluma). _Remy Roho Yama_ , he thought. Remy _Roho Yama_ , who had never had a clan for himself, or a name to go with it. Grandparents, uncles, great-grandparents....Remy gazed at Sacha. Cousins, too.

"Sacha," he murmured and Sacha stopped talking about a woman called Ursula, who was Tesso's grandmother, she who had nearly succeeded in stealing away the patriarch of Les Bleu Foncé away from his wife and three strapping sons. Sacha looked at him, eyes widening as Remy loosened the top of his robe, revealing the dip of his collarbone.

"Don't do that, cher," Sacha said, even though he reached out, his large hand curling around the back of Remy's neck. "You don't have to."

"I want to." Remy pulled the robe some more, letting it slip down his shoulders. He smiled in triumph as Sacha's gaze dropped and he stared for longer than strictly necessary at his chest. Sacha's hand moved, but instead of downwards as Remy was expecting, it shifted up to stroke the top of his ear. Remy jerked at the sensation, arching forward with his mouth open in shock. He'd never felt _that_ before. His body felt as if it wanted to melt, even as his cock grew hard between his thighs and his skin prickled. Sacha kept up that gentle stroke at the tip, fingers soft against skin. Remy could hardly manage to reach up and grab his wrist.

"Wait," he said, and he sounded breathless to his own ears; he didn't even know that about his _own ears_. "You'll make me come, Sacha."

Sacha growled, and lunged forward, grabbing Remy's face in both hands and kissing him roughly. Remy moaned against the insistent press of his lips and the way Sacha's tongue slipped into his mouth, feeding him that delicious craving. Remy tried to crawl back to the head of the bed whilst keeping their kiss intact and Sacha followed, moving between his legs, pushing open the robe fully. The calluses on his fingers and palms muttered against Remy's skin. Remy cried out when Sacha moved to lick at that sensitive point of his ear, while cupping his balls in one hand, rolling them in his palm.

Remy went up on his elbows, trying to part his legs even more so that Sacha could settle between them. He wanted everything all at once, and Sacha's hands roaming over his body was only one of many things.

Sacha said, "Remy, over," and without waiting pulled back to roll Remy over himself, taking him by the waist and turning him effortlessly. Remy landed heavily and struggled up to his hands and knees, breathing hard as Sacha pushed up the draped cloth of his night-robe up his back and exposed the curve of his bottom to the cool air.

"Mmm." Sacha nipped one buttock, kneading the other and Remy jumped. "When I first saw you... oh, _cher_."

"Oh cher what?" Remy asked, looking over his shoulder at Sacha, who had parted both cheeks and was gazing at Remy's hole with a fixated fascination. Remy felt hot and shivery. "Sacha?"

Sacha dived in without answering, his tongue flicking at Remy's clenching entrance. Remy cried out, his cock so erect that the bulbous head of it slapped wetly against his stomach with every jerk of his body. He could feel the hot waves of Sacha's want, all without any pressing from him at all. Remy writhed under that knowledge, and the searching laps of Sacha's tongue.

"Remy," Sacha now moaned hotly against the damp skin of Remy's thigh, one hand reaching around to drag searching fingers down Remy's stomach, cradle his hard cock. He pressed hard kisses up the center of Remy's spine, draping himself over Remy's back as he reached to the headboard and yanked out a small drawer that had been cleverly hidden in the carved patterns.

Sacha retrieved a small vial filled with an amber fluid, pulling the cork with his teeth. _His teeth_ , Remy thought, dizzyingly, and let out a shaky exhale as Sacha's fingers twisted slowly into him.

"Will it hurt?" Remy whispered, turning his head and catching Sacha's mouth in a kiss.

"Mmm." Sacha pulled back, nipping at Remy's shoulders and then licking the soft bite-marks. " _What_ will hurt? Oh." He kissed Remy's neck. "This, you mean? No, cher, no. Unless you like that sort of thing."

Remy said, "I'm not sure if I do," and grunted a little as Sacha's fingers worked him open some more. His erection flagged a little, and Sacha sighed, turning him over again. Remy felt the slick slipping around his hole, and huffed as he was turned over yet again, flat on his back with Sacha's arms braced on either side of him.

Sacha's pale eyes appeared unusually dark; the pinprick of pupil had blown wide, and Remy stared up at the intent expression, hardly noticing as his legs were shifted wider, Sacha's hands strong on the backs of his thighs.

"Cher," Sacha said, and with a jolt, Remy realized it was the same crooning sound Dominique had used with Montessoro. Sacha fumbled at the opening of the loose trousers he wore, and Remy breathed sharper, deeper, as the head of Sacha's cock pressed against him. It opened him up, pressing him wide. Remy heard someone breathing heavily, a crumpled moan at the end of every exhalation; he was so focused on the thick feel of Sacha ploughing inside him, that he realized belatedly that it was himself.

Sacha cursed in that fluid creole under his breath as he sunk all the way inside Remy. He pressed their foreheads together, waiting with a fine tremble in his muscles as Remy's body struggled around his intrusion. Eventually, Remy's hands travelled lightly up Sacha's arms, and up his shoulders. He tilted up his hips, invitingly, and bit his lip as Sacha slid out and back again.

Sacha rubbed up against that delicious spot inside of him now and again, but Remy was more caught up in the cascade of sweet triumph emanating from Sacha, his wonder and utter delight at being with Remy. He pressed the inside of his thighs against Sacha's sides, urging him on with the way he arched up, hands stroking against the sweaty planes of his back. Under his palms, he felt raised skin; remnants of welts created by the whipping. Even now, they should have been sore and raw, painfully tender to the touch. These felt as if they were years old, and Remy sensed only an increased sensitivity in Sacha's awareness of that particular location.

He felt Sacha's impending release almost more than he could feel their bodies pounding together, and it snatched at his own, dragging it along. For a moment, pinned between his own mind and Sacha's, he felt what it could be like to be _pressed_. He choked on his own cries as Sacha licked at his neck and sharp teeth bored into his skin.

Remy's whole being felt like it was unfurled rapidly, like a flower in a hurry to see the world. He turned inside out, bucking wildly underneath Sacha as come pulsed out of him, splattering on his stomach and chest. He could taste his own blood in Sacha's mouth, the sweet bright life of it coursing down his throat as he thrust deep inside Remy, one plunging fuck and came.

Remy descended in a series of shuddering aftershocks, smiling slightly at Sacha's petting and soft murmurs.

"Slow, cher." Sacha placed a kiss on Remy's temple as he slipped out of him. "So beautiful," he said but everything else coming from him said _mine, cher, mine._

\--

When Dominique finally deigned to let Montessoro return to his clan and all the duties which apparently went with it, Montessoro stood in front of the bubbling little pool that the twins conjured into existence, cupped Remy's face in his hands and solemnly kissed both cheeks. Remy didn't meet his eyes, flushing at the teasing coming from Les Bleu Foncé (most of them at least; Sacha was giving off an indulgent sort of jealousy). Montessoro tilted up his face a little until Remy looked up.

Montessoro smiled. "You can come to my home when you can. You will like it."

 _Home_ , Remy thought, and it resonated through the air to Montessoro, and echoed around Les Bleu Foncé.

"Home," he said, trying on the word for size.

It felt nice.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> Click on the crest below to check out the Les Bleu Foncé family tree.
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> 
> [](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/megyal/10372990/38704/original.png)  
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>  
> 
> The family motto is _Carpe Noctem_.
> 
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> 
> `  
> Shield created at [Fantasyshields.com](http://www.fantasyshields.com/editor.php); Tree created at [Familyecho.com](http://www.familyecho.com)  
> `


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